elysian minutiae
by ultraviolets
Summary: — it is the little things that make life worth living • a collection of unrelated drabbles, published periodically for challenges and as they come to mind
1. vying

Padma Patil was tired of being second-best.

Or, she was tired of being considered as such. Because in all honesty - she made better marks than Parvati. And she'd heard the whispers from where she so often tended to lurk in the background, hushed remarks that Padma was most certainly the prettier one. But they never said it to her face - they always just continued on their way, sometimes right past her, without even acknowledging her presence.

But perhaps, she mused, that was the root of the issue.

Of course, they considered Parvati the best, because they _knew_ her. Parvati flourished in the center of attention, a sunflower that thrived in the spotlight. Bright and vibrant and bold, she was all but impossible to miss.

And then there was Padma. She was not a flower, not by any means. She was the ivy that snaked up the sides of buildings, deep and dark and pretty - but altogether, decidedly forgettable.

And she was tired of it. She hid it well, though, behind practiced smiles and immaculate facades -

Pretending like her heart hadn't twisted horribly when she realized that Parvati's date to the Yule Ball would be the Boy Who Lived, leaving her with the likes of a Weasley.

Pretending like she hadn't been almost seething with anger when Parvati had earned house points for scoring well on a test, despite the fact that Padma had scored higher.

Yes, it might have been selfish of her, and there were times when her heart would twist for no reason other than the realization of how horrid these thoughts were, and how jealous of a person they made her.

Parvati was her sister, after all. Her other half. The flame to Padma's shadow.

But perhaps, _that_ was the problem.


	2. roguery

Lily had made many mistakes in her life, a great deal of them stemming from her decision to go out with James Potter.

It wasn't James himself that was the issue - most of the time, that was - but rather, the antics that he often swept Lily into. With reassuring kisses on the cheek, gentle whispers of _it will be fine, we do this all the time and we're still here to tell the tale_ , James somehow always managed to get Lily to relent, murmuring her agreement to him as she slid her hand into his.

Now, that treacherous hand was splayed on the wall as she leaned against it for a brief moment to catch her breath, pressing her body against the shadows in order to avoid being illuminated by the beam of moonlight streaming in from the nearby window.

She turned her head to the side in order to glare at James, letting him know that this would be the last time she followed him so blindly - but to her dismay, she found that she'd lost him somewhere behind.

 _Great._

It was just past midnight, professors and ghosts alike were roaming the corridors, and Lily had let herself end up two floors away from the Gryffindor tower. Which was where she should have been. Asleep, blissfully unaware of any of Hogwarts' hidden passages.

But _no._

Instead, she had let Potter and his friends convince her to go on this daring escapade, venturing through Hogwarts' most elusive corridors in the dead of the night. The whole charade had started off smoothly enough, their posse slinking through the castle almost silently. But then Sirius had startled Ms. Norris, the cat had let out an ear-piercing mewl, and it had all been downhill from there.

What had happened afterward was nothing but a blur of shadows and the patter of quick footsteps as they'd all scattered. Lily had hoped they'd find each other later but -

Here she was, completely and utterly alone.

As her labored breathing subsided, returning to normal, Lily finally allowed herself to move. Her footsteps were tentative and careful, and every time the floor creaked beneath her, she could not help but wince.

As she crept along at a snail's pace, painfully aware of how long she was making what should have been a short walk, she counted down the minutes, second by second, and let her eyes wander nowhere but straight ahead.

It was only when she made it to the staircase did she turn around - and find herself face to face with Professor Dumbledore.

" _Glisseo!_ " The words were out of her mouth instinctively, and she could not recall exactly what the spell meant until her stomach dropped as the steps beneath her flattened out into nothing but a smooth wall that her hands flailed uselessly against, struggling to find something to hold on to.

She bit her tongue to keep from crying out as she fell, and as she landed on the ground with a definitive thump, she hissed in pain upon tasting the metallic tang of blood in her mouth.

Swallowing hard and getting to her feet, Lily pocketed her wand.

She was going to have a _lot_ to say to James later tonight.


	3. limerence

Her eyes were the color of sapphires. Sirius swore he could get lost in them, and there were days when he did — sitting in History of Magic, Professor Binn's voice little more than a dull droning in his ears.

She'd be thoughtful, mind clearly elsewhere, thinking about the lesson — though, judging by the deep emotion behind those eyes, Sirius was sure it was something more interesting than _that_ — and he would never mean to, but his mind would just end up somewhere within hers, nebulous and hazy and unfocused.

And then she would glare at him, the spell undone, eyes narrowing as she snapped, "what the hell are you looking at, Black?"

"Nothing," he'd mutter. _Every single time._

Sirius Black, the most reckless, daring Gryffindor there was, who didn't give a damn what anyone — even his closest family — thought, couldn't muster the courage to utter more than a _word_ to Marlene McKinnon.

Of course, he never told anyone — he could practically hear James' derisive teasing already.

Besides, he berated himself for it enough as it was.

It could have been so easy. One slick retort, one carefully placed compliment, _one word_ —

That was all Sirius needed to do.

He made a promise to himself that he would do it. A vow — a small, secret pledge that tomorrow, _tomorrow,_ he would talk to her.

He would tell her that her eyes were jewels, brighter than the sky itself. That he was intrigued by the raw emotion that seemed to glitter in their depths, that they looked as though they held a thousand stories and that he'd love to learn each and every one of them —

He sauntered into History of Magic that day, a loose, easy confidence to his gait.

Only to find Marlene McKinnon waiting just outside the room, golden locks slightly mussed, lips red and raw, cheeks flushed — and fingers intertwined with _Remus's._

Those stunning sapphire eyes shone with something radiant, something new — it was a look that greeted Sirius every time he looked in the mirror. Complete and utter infatuation.

But those eyes were not for him.


	4. recidivation

Daphne Greengrass had a reputation as a heartbreaker that she was more than happy to uphold.

The exhilaration of it all kept her heart in a constant state of aflutter — the buzz of adrenaline that lingered on her lips with each boy she kissed was intoxicating. Soon they all blended together, fingers wound through her hair, arms wrapped around her waist, lips pressed against hers.

Until the day the thrill finally dissipated.

When Theodore Nott, her latest trophy, spat in her face— "You know what? I'm done. _Done._ With you and your mind games, because how much of it is actually true, Daphne? Tell me. You pull me along on a string like I'm nothing, and then expect me to bow down before you."

Usually, it brought Daphne pride to see another boy at her feet, but this, this was different. Perhaps it was because, with Theo, it _hadn't_ all been a pretense.

And so, as he stalked away, staring vacantly at his retreating back, Daphne felt something cold and unfamiliar slip into her chest, replacing the buoyancy that had once set her heart aflame.

She turned on her heel and did not once look back, not because she couldn't bear to, but because the hot tears that came afterward were so foreign to her that their sting was palpable.

No one dared say a word to her as she stormed through the Slytherin dorms — even Pansy, always so quick to press for gossip, bit her tongue.

Daphne slammed the door to her room with such force that it seemed to resonate throughout the entirety of the dungeons, realizing she was becoming just the sort of pathetic, heartbroken girl that she _despised._

The queen had been stripped of her crown, her throne, and she was utterly distraught and lost without them.

* * *

It was three days later that she finally emerged, hair braided in a neat, simple plait down her back, eyes fresh and shining with a raw, new innocence. Her face was expressionless, having been wiped clean of the dark, dramatic makeup that had previously been her trademark. There were whispers that followed her up and down the corridors, about how weak and spineless she'd become. _Pitiful,_ they'd say, seeing the once-proud queen facing her kingdom in shambles.

And Daphne wholeheartedly agreed. She was no queen. And she no longer wanted to be. But that did not mean their comments didn't sting— talk that without the boys who put her on a pedestal, she was _nothing._

* * *

He did not put her on a pedestal. He did not look at her with that blind look of reverence, did not bow to her every whim. He was calculated. Thoughtful. His eyes were not ladened with infatuation when he looked at her, like so many of theirs had been. She wasn't some beautiful queen he would keel over for, but rather, simply a girl that he wouldn't mind talking to. That he wouldn't mind getting to know better.

He chipped away at the ice that had become Daphne's heart.

"Blaise," he introduced. "Blaise Zabini."

The ice continued to melt, and the small smile that graced her lips was anything but pretense as she took his hand in her own.


	5. vitality

Marlene would have never thought that she, of all people, would be the heartbroken one after a breakup. She had a reputation for being untouchable, unbothered by anyone and everyone who dared to question her. Eyes alight, chin lifted, she painted the perfect facade of a girl who couldn't care less.

But there she was, slumped over a chair in the Gryffindor common room, watching the flames and sparks dance and crackle in the fireplace as she replayed their last conversation over and over again like a broken record.

Like if, by some convoluted miracle, she relived it enough times, it would finally leave her alone.

She'd seen _him_ in the corridors on her stilted walk to Potions yesterday, Marlene still being at the stage of simply going through the motions in a daze. But _he_ had looked entirely and utterly unruffled. Happy, even. His jovial smile had been a weightless thing, as though to directly mock the heaviness Marlene despised herself for still carrying within.

She crumpled up her last letter from him and tossed it into the fire with a sense of finality. She'd already gotten rid of the rest of him - scarves borrowed, flowers pressed into books or woven into crowns for her hair, and now the letters that had waxed poetic about how much he loved her.

 _As if._

She was so busy glaring at the fire, trying to combat its embers with her own fierce gaze, that she barely noticed as Lily hurried into the common room, unwinding her own scarf as her cheeks bloomed crimson from the warmth that was such a stark contrast from the bitter chill outside.

She settled onto the couch beside Marlene, elbows brushing before, almost automatically, their hands found each other, fingers intertwined.

Lily's fingers were frozen, even despite the gloves she'd been wearing, and Marlene was glad to have something to combat the red-hot anger that had encompassed her.

She was also glad for the companionable silence Lily offered, her friend having been so attuned to her emotions that she didn't even have to ask what was bothering her anymore.

And somewhere, deep within Marlene, as Lily offered a soft smile, resting her head on her shoulder and letting her auburn locks fall over the both of them, that destructive flame began to quiet.

Ever so slightly.

Marlene watched the last of the parchment from the letter crumble into nothing but ash, as she finally felt her own raging inferno begin to do the same.


End file.
